


Vices

by distantattraction



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: M/M, cole is mega gay for jack but you'd never hear him say it, jack's only mentioned he's not actually around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantattraction/pseuds/distantattraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This relationship he has with Roy is not the first time Cole has had feelings like these about another man, as loathe he is to admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vices

He hated to admit it, but this was not the first time he had felt this way.

It wasn’t that Roy’s little barbs had gotten to him—and barbs they were, those comments he made about Cole’s appearance, about him and Cole being _partners_ , an ill-fitting pair, a dysfunctional couple. It wasn’t that his will wasn’t strong enough to stand up against a few casual insults.

No, what got to Cole was Roy himself. The man was obnoxious without a doubt and irritating to a fault, but he was also shrewd. His wit was as sharp as his tongue, and both had a way of cutting through Cole’s carefully crafted armor.

That drew Cole to him almost against his will. This was what stopped him from sending Roy away the first time his hand brushed Cole’s, when his refusal to meet Cole’s eye was too deliberate for the touch to have been an accident. This was why he didn’t stop Roy when he sat far closer than necessary when they finally got back to the station after too many hours on the road, when his leg came to rest against Cole’s. They sat there, calves touching with fabric doing little to temper the heat of their flesh, not moving. Even Cole’s hand stilled mid-word.

He didn’t ask any questions when Roy stood and gestured toward the door. He didn’t ask any questions when Roy drove Cole to his apartment, a place full of wealth that showed no signs of being home.

Cole would never say it aloud, didn’t even let himself think the words, but he liked the way Roy treated him when they were hidden by closed doors and closed curtains. He liked the way Roy threw him against walls, liked that their kisses were as much bite as anything else, liked that Roy took him hard and fast and that he never had to look him in the eye when it happened.

He liked it because it was everything he used to daydream about during training, everything he used to imagine—not fantasize, never fantasize—on hard beds during long nights in the barracks.

It wasn’t Roy in those days, of course. Back then, it was Jack.

Cole hated him, and he hated Cole, but every time Jack spoke it sent a spark of electricity up Cole’s spine. That spark was mostly anger, true enough, but there was a part of it that haunted him when the sun went down, when his hand strayed below his waistband in the darkness.

He always tried to imagine women. Cole had seen all the magazines the other men kept, even hid one or two beneath his own mattress, but they never did as much for him as they seemed to do for the rest. Sure, the women were pretty enough, but they didn’t have Jack’s strength, his stature, his sense of power. Women in magazines were nice to look at, but Jack? Jack would have been so good to touch.

He touched himself in silence and in shame, never gentle, always fast. He kept hoping this time would be the last, that he would finally be able to rid himself of this plague on his composure. It didn’t do to have these _feelings_ about Jack, another man, another soldier, and not even one Cole _liked_.

When Cole landed in California and took his wife in his arms, held his little girls close to his chest, he thought he had bested those urges. He had a family here. What more could he possibly want?

But on that first night, when Roy shoved him up against the apartment wall and had Cole’s jacket and shirt on the floor faster than blinking, he knew. It was Roy pressing up against him, parting Cole’s lips with a tongue and his legs with a knee, but Cole thought of Jack. He thought of Jack every time Roy tugged at his belt, every time Roy pushed him to his knees, every time Roy’s nails clawed down his back.

Cole never wanted romance one these nights. He didn’t want soft, sensual touches with Roy, didn’t want lingering caresses with Jack. He wanted hard and fast and painful. He wanted shame he could wash off in the shower and guilt that would dwell in the bruises at his hips.

The one good thing about Roy was that in this, he always delivered. Cole had never found the man so reliable as when he wanted to do something he would regret.


End file.
